You Jump, I Jump
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: A reimagining of a scene from 9x15 set in the Pizza Pie 'verse featuring Hurt, 4-yr old Sam, 8-yr old Big Brother Dean, Awesome Uncle Bobby, and Puppy Rumsfeld – Batman, Superman, and a broken arm.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: A reimagining of a scene from 9x15 set in the Pizza Pie 'verse featuring Hurt, 4-yr old Sam, 8-yr old Big Brother Dean, Awesome Uncle Bobby, and Puppy Rumsfeld – Batman, Superman, and a broken arm.

**Disclaimer**: The characters aren't mine. But this 'verse is...and I think I'm addicted to it.

**Warnings**: Spoilers for 9x15 (just this one blink-and-you-miss-it scene) and minor language

**A/N**: I appreciate all the PMs I received requesting I write a story about this scene. And while I also appreciated the sentiment behind this brief little flashback in 9x15, I disagreed with everything else about it. The characteristics and the logistics just didn't add up for me. So, this is my version...

* * *

_Don't be afraid to jump, then fall...I'll catch you. ~ Taylor Swift_

* * *

"Please?"

Dean sighed and cut his eyes at his brother, annoyed by the repeated pleading. "No, Sam."

"But why?" Sam asked, as four-year olds often did.

...especially _this_ four-year old – always wanting an explanation, always wanting to understand _why_.

"Because _I'm_ Batman," Dean reminded his little brother for the fifth time that morning.

The brothers still standing beside their bed wearing nothing but jeans and socks since getting dressed had been interrupted by a debate that had already lasted too long.

"But you _always_ get to be Batman," Sam pouted, his voicing rising into a whine as he watched Dean shake out the folded t-shirt with the classic symbol.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean told his brother, trying to ignore the kid's disappointed expression. "I don't make the rules. I didn't ask to be born as Batman."

Sam scowled. "You're not _really_ Batman, Dean."

Dean arched an eyebrow at the challenge. "Really? And how do you know that? Have you ever seen me and Batman in the same room together?"

Sam blinked and tilted his head, confused by the question. "Um...no?"

Dean smiled, knowing what he was implying had gone right over the four-year old's head.

"So, there's your answer," the big brother concluded and then pointed at the shirt on their bedroom floor...the one Sam had dropped during his mini meltdown earlier. "And there's your shirt..."

Sam glanced at the blue shirt with the red and yellow emblem and shook his head. "But I wanna be Batman today." He paused. "Please?"

Dean groaned as the conversation came full circle and started yet again.

"Sammy. We don't have time for this. Bobby's probably already wondering where we are..."

In fact, Dean expected the older hunter to check on them any second now.

Because Bobby had gotten the brothers up almost half an hour ago...and it usually didn't take them _this _long to get ready.

But Sam didn't seem to care about adhering to timeframes.

"Please?" the four-year old repeated once more about being Batman.

Dean stared at his brother.

Sam stared back.

Those huge eyes beginning to fill with tears, that bottom lip beginning to quiver.

And that was it.

Without saying another word, Sam had won.

Dean sighed and shook his head, wondering if he would ever be immune to his little brother's "sad kicked puppy" expression.

"Fine," the eight-year old finally relented. "You can be Batman."

Sam beamed, instantly happy. "Really?"

Dean nodded and handed over one of his favorite shirts. "Really. But just for today," he clarified, holding his brother's gaze and making it clear that he wasn't handing over the role indefinitely.

Sam nodded, accepting Dean's terms along with his shirt, and briefly hugged the fabric to his bare chest.

Dean quirked a smile, always amazed by the simple things that made his little brother happy...and always feeling like a real superhero whenever _he_ was the reason the kid was _this_ happy.

Because the dimpled grin on Sam's face was worth giving up being Batman for a day.

Dean's smile lingered. "Are you gonna put it on or just hold it?" he teased as Sam continued to hug the shirt like some people hugged their trophies, overwhelmed by the honor.

Sam giggled. "I'm gonna put it on," he replied but seemed to get lost in the fabric as he attempted to do so.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Here..." he told his brother and stepped forward, straightening the shirt.

"Smells like you," Sam commented as Dean eased the shirt over his head.

Dean pulled a face. "Okay," he drawled, not realizing he _had_ a smell.

But then again, Sam would know since the kid had spent the majority of his life sleeping with his face buried in Dean's chest...or nuzzled into Dean's neck whenever Dean held him...or tucked into Dean's side whenever the four-year old was scared.

There was no such thing as personal space between them.

They were always within reach of one another, always within touching distance, always _right there_.

So it was no wonder that Sam knew Dean's smell...just like Dean knew his little brother's scent.

Dean snorted as the thought crossed his mind, remembering some random wildlife documentary he had watched late one night when the motel TV had been stuck on a single channel. How the narrator had explained that a mother knew the scent of her baby...and the baby had been shown to recognize the scent of its mother as well.

Dean stared at Sam within inches of his face, readily acknowledging – at least to himself – that Sam had been his baby...and was now his kid.

And if that was a weird thing for an eight-year old to think, then so be it.

Because Sam _was_ Dean's kid and Dean would do anything for him – including allowing the four-year old to take over his role of Batman for the day.

Dean smiled.

Sam blinked at his brother. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean dismissed and guided Sam's arms through the sleeves of his shirt before stepping back to inspect the completed outfit.

Sam bit his bottom lip, his sock-clad feet shifting uncertainly as he waited for his big brother's approval.

Dean said nothing at first, knowing this was important to Sam and thus trying not to laugh.

Because the Batman shirt was _huge_, looking more like a dress as it completely swallowed the small-for-his-age four-year old.

Sam's expression began to change, sensing something was wrong from Dean's continued silence.

"Do I look stupid?"

Dean scowled at Sam using that word to describe himself. "No," he assured, any temptation to tease instantly gone. "You never look stupid. You hear me? I don't want you ever saying that word about yourself. Because you're _awesome_."

Sam smiled shyly at his big brother's praise. "You're awesome, too," he returned with the genuine tone of a little brother looking up to his true hero. "And Batman's awesome..."

"Damn right," Dean agreed. "And you're gonna make an awesome Batman-for-the-day. We just gotta make a few adjustments..." he added and crossed behind Sam, cinching the shirt up and back and then tying the excess fabric into a loose knot.

It still wasn't a perfect fit – because an eight-year old's shirt just wasn't going to fit a scrawny four-year old – but it was better...and safer.

Dean wouldn't worry as much about Sam tripping and falling as they went through their day.

And that was all that ever mattered to Dean – that his kid was safe and happy.

The big brother smiled, settling his hands on Sam's shoulders and steering the four-year old over to the mirror mounted on the back of their bedroom door.

"What 'cha think, Sammy? Do you look like Batman?"

Sam stared at his reflection, a grin slowly returning to his face. "I look like _you_!"

...which was obviously more important to Sam – to emulate his big brother.

Dean smiled, feeling sappy as he always did whenever Sam tried to be like him.

"Well..." the eight-year old began. "If you look like me, then I'd say you look pretty badass."

Sam giggled and tipped his head back, leaning into Dean's chest and looking at his brother upside down. "But if I'm wearing this, what are _you_ gonna wear?"

Dean shrugged, brushing Sam's bangs from his eyes. "I don't know. I've got plenty of other t-shirts, Sammy."

"No," Sam replied and turned, facing Dean. "If I'm Batman, I want _you_ to be Superman."

Dean arched an eyebrow and then laughed. "Yeah...that's not happening."

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

"Lots of reasons," Dean answered vaguely, trying to avoid another debate that would further prolong him and Sam from going downstairs to eat breakfast.

Because Dean could smell Bobby cooking – _good morning, bacon_ – and was eager to dive in.

"But why?" Sam persisted, his voice once again rising to that whine that grated on Dean's nerves.

"Jesus, here we go..." Dean muttered and shook his head. "Sam. Listen. I'm not gonna be Superman because for one thing, your shirt is too small for me."

...which was an understatement since some of Sam's clothes looked like doll's clothes compared to Dean.

"Well, that's okay," Sam replied unfazed and crossed to their dresser, digging in the bottom drawer. "You can just wear this."

"Oh my god..." Dean moaned and then laughed at the idea of him wearing that old red sheet that Bobby had cut in half to serve as Sam's Superman cape. "Sam, I don't think – "

" – don't tell me it won't fit you 'cause it _will_," Sam interrupted, still holding the cape in one hand while his other hand propped on his hip with the sassy authority of a four-year old who was too smart of his own good.

Dean sighed, suddenly feeling like he was dealing with a hostage negotiation.

_Do what I want...and maybe _then_ I'll let you out of this room. _

And honestly, all Dean could think about was his stomach beginning to growl and that bacon waiting for him downstairs.

The eight-year old sighed again.

It wasn't like they were planning to go anywhere today. Bobby had said they were hanging around the house so he could catch up on some research, which meant only Sam and Bobby would see Dean wearing the homemade cape.

And if it made Sam happy...

Sam seemed to sense his brother beginning to give in. "Please?" he asked, shaking the cape at Dean and blinking those big eyes.

Dean pulled a face. "You know...saying 'please' and looking at me like that isn't always going to work."

Sam smiled as Dean took the cape from his grasp.

The four-year old's expression reminding Dean that Sam's go-to method of getting his way had yet to fail.

Dean hummed his reluctant agreement and gestured at the dresser. "Get me a shirt."

Sam nodded. "A blue one," he specified, as though he had already planned the perfect shirt to complete his big brother's makeshift Superman ensemble.

"Of course a blue one..." Dean echoed sarcastically and accepted the shirt, setting the cape on the edge of the bed long enough to finish getting dressed.

Seconds later, he had the red sheet tied around his neck, looking like an idiot.

But Sam was excited, the four-year old clapping his hands and bouncing in place.

"You look like Superman, Dean!"

"I look like something..." Dean agreed dryly, frowning at his reflection in the mirror as he approached the door. "C'mon. It's time to eat."

Sam wrinkled his nose as he usually did at the mention of food. "I'm not hungry."

"Well, I _am_," Dean returned, his tone slightly grumpy. "So, let's go..."

Sam sighed but followed his brother out of their bedroom, sidestepping Dean once they were in the hall and scampering down the stairs.

Bobby glanced up and smiled at the racket, then glanced at Rumsfeld sprawled beneath the table.

"Guess who's coming..." he sing-songed, his smile widening as the Rottweiler's stubby tail twitched in anticipation.

"Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na...na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na...Batman!" Sam announced as he slid into view, the four-year old almost losing his balance as his sock-clad feet glided over the hardwood floor.

Bobby blinked and then chuckled at the unexpected entrance. "Well, good morning, Dark Knight."

Sam giggled, genuinely delighted by Bobby's surprise.

"Last time I saw you, you were bigger. Did you shrink?"

Sam giggled again. "No. This is Dean's shirt."

...as if Bobby didn't already know that.

After all, the older hunter had been the one to buy the Batman shirt for Dean since the eight-year old had insisted he was "too old" to wear costumes back during Halloween.

Following his big brother's lead – like always – Sam had then proclaimed that he was too old for costumes as well, which had led to Bobby buying a Superman shirt for Sam and then making a red cape out of an old sheet...because apparently four-year olds were _not _too old for capes.

Now several months after Halloween had come and gone, the brothers still frequently wore their Batman and Superman shirts.

But it seemed this morning, they had decided to switch...probably at Sam's persistent persuading.

And although Dean had clearly tried to make _his_ shirt fit Sam's small body, Bobby wasn't quite sure how Dean would ever manage to wear _Sam's_ shirt.

That would be interesting to see...

The older hunter smiled as he watched Sam slide around in the hallway, his youngest easily entertained by the smooth glide of his socks on the hardwood.

"Be careful."

Because the last thing Bobby needed was for the kid to fall and break something.

Sam nodded at Bobby's warning and turned his attention to Rumsfeld as the dog came towards him.

"Rummy!" he greeted and hugged the overgrown puppy that was almost as tall as he was.

Rumsfeld wiggled with excitement, licking Sam's face before the four-year old released him.

"Where's Dean?" Bobby asked, knowing he had heard _both _boys come downstairs.

Sam looked to his left, down the hall and presumably at his brother.

Bobby arched an eyebrow at the implication that Dean was intentionally staying out of sight.

"Come _on_," Sam encouraged in a loud whisper and then glanced back at Bobby. "Dean's dressed up, too."

"Ahhh..." Bobby commented and prepared himself not to laugh.

Because Sam was _way_ too excited about this...and Dean was taking _way_ too long to appear...which meant this was going to be _good_.

Bobby heard Dean sigh in the hall and then shuffle forward, finally coming to stand beside Sam in the doorway.

"Super-man!" Sam declared, drawing out the word and beaming at Dean like his big brother was the best thing _ever_.

Bobby twitched a smile at the eight-year old wearing a blue t-shirt with a red sheet tied around his neck. "Well, ain't you somethin'..."

Dean scowled. "Shut up."

Bobby chuckled. "Are superheroes supposed to say 'shut up'?"

"No. _Never_," Sam replied, shaking his head as though Dean had broken some sacred code.

Dean glared at his brother. "Shut. Up."

Sam frowned and then glared back. "You're a _mean _Superman."

Bobby smiled at his boys, thankful they were staying with him yet again as John was off hunting...or doing god knows what, god knows where.

It really didn't matter to Bobby as long as he got to spend time with these kids – _his_ kids, not John's.

"Maybe this will help..." Bobby predicted about improving Dean's mood as he set two plates of bacon, eggs, and toast on the table; the older hunter knowing Dean was not at his best when the eight-year old was hungry.

Dean's stomach growled loudly as he crossed to the table, pushing Sam in front of him while Rumsfeld tagged along behind.

"Apple juice for Batman..." Bobby commented as he poured, because Sam's beverage choice rarely changed. "...and for Superman?"

"Orange juice is fine," Dean mumbled around his mouthful of eggs, too consumed with eating to be bothered about the Superman title...or the red sheet still tied around his neck.

Sam poked at the food on his plate with his fork as if he had never seen eggs before.

"Sam. Don't start..." Dean warned, sensing his brother's picky eating habits rearing their ugly head. "You like eggs."

"But there's too many."

"Then eat what you want," Bobby told the four-year old, setting the brothers' juice glasses on the table and then returning to the counter for his own plate. "Whatever you don't eat, Rummy will be more than happy to help with."

Sam smiled at the mention of the dog and twisted in his chair to see Rumsfeld following behind Bobby.

Dean recognized the avoidance tactic – for Sam to keep his attention anywhere except on his meal – and tapped the edge of his brother's plate with his own fork.

"Sam. Either eat...or I will feed you."

Sam wrinkled his nose at the threat. "I'm not a baby, Dean. I'm Batman!"

Dean rolled his eyes with a snort. "Fine. If you're Batman for the day, then you have to eat. 'Cause everybody knows that Batman loves to eat..."

Bobby nodded as he sat across from the brothers. "Absolutely. Can't kick ass on an empty stomach."

Dean smiled his appreciation for the older hunter's help in this daily battle...especially since John's way of handling this was usually to rant until he made Sam cry.

Bobby winked at Dean, sipping his coffee before taking a bite of toast.

Sam sighed. "Okay," he agreed. "I guess I can eat. But there's too much bacon."

"There's no such thing as too much bacon, Sam," Dean countered, sometimes wondering how he could be related to this kid who didn't like to eat.

"Too much," Sam repeated and placed his extra slice on Dean's plate before finally beginning to eat his eggs.

"Hallelujah..." Dean muttered like he had just witnessed a miracle and resumed eating his eggs as well.

Breakfast continued undisturbed for several minutes.

Bobby and Dean cleaning their plates while Sam did his best...and Rumsfeld patiently sat nearby, waiting to finish whatever was left.

Because there was _always_ something left on the four-year old's plate.

Sam leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach as though he had just devoured a feast instead of consuming barely enough to keep a squirrel alive.

"Can I be done now?"

Dean surveyed his brother's plate. "Finish your toast and juice...and _then_ you can be done," he allowed, hoping for better luck at lunch.

Sam nodded his acceptance of his brother's deal and slurped his juice, coughing as he startled when one of the phones on the wall suddenly rang.

Dean rubbed Sam's back. "Easy," he murmured, cutting his eyes at the phones.

Bobby groaned – always annoyed when time with his boys was interrupted – and stood, wincing when his knees creaked and taking his coffee mug with him as he answered the house phone on the third ring.

"Singer..."

Dean shifted in his seat, readjusting the cape tied around his neck so it didn't feel like it was strangling him, and then brushed his fingers across Sam's mouth, clearing toast crumbs.

Sam didn't seem to mind his big brother fussing over him, the four-year old too focused on trying to reach Rumsfeld as the dog playfully ducked away.

Across the kitchen, Bobby sighed. "Yeah. I guess I can do that..." he was reluctantly agreeing. "But we just finished breakfast. Give me a few minutes to clean up and get things situated here, then I'll be over."

Dean arched an eyebrow at the implication that Bobby was leaving and stared at the older hunter expectantly as Bobby hung up with another sigh.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing to worry about," Bobby assured, hearing the hint of alarm in the eight-year old's voice since Dean had been conditioned to expect the worse.

Dean marginally relaxed at Bobby's words and waited for the older hunter to continue.

"Just a good friend down the road, another mechanic..." Bobby explained, crossing to the table to collect all three plates. "He's got a car up on a lift and can't seem to figure out the problem. Wants me to come down and have a look since I've got more experience..."

Dean nodded, sometimes forgetting that Bobby had another job besides hunting...and wondering what that was like.

"I hate to leave you boys, but – "

" – it's fine," Dean told him, glancing at Sam as the kid jumped down from his chair and chased after Rumsfeld; both child and dog disappearing in the hallway.

Bobby smiled at Sam's squeals of laughter echoing through his house.

Dean smiled as well, bringing his and Sam's juice glasses to the counter and joining in helping Bobby clean up.

Bobby watched as the eight-year old's cape trailed behind him. "You know...if this is going to become a regular thing, I probably need to make you your own."

Dean shook his head, refusing the offer. "Thanks...but no. This..." He gestured at the red sheet tied around his neck. "...is just for today and _only_ today."

Bobby arched an eyebrow as he started on the dishes. "And what makes today so special?"

Dean shrugged, not having a good answer. "I don't know. Ask Sammy. It was his idea."

Bobby nodded knowingly. "Uh-huh. And then he turned those eyes on you, didn't he?"

...like that was Sam's superpower.

Because it _was_.

Dean laughed like a man found out. "Yep."

Bobby chuckled. "No shame, son. We've all been there."

Dean laughed again at Bobby's confession, knowing the only other person besides Dean that Sam had wrapped around his little finger was Bobby Singer.

There was a beat of companionable silence in the kitchen, Bobby washing the dishes while Dean dried them...and then both hunters startling when Sam yelled down the hall as Rumsfeld barked.

Bobby cringed at the sudden loudness. "Maybe while I'm gone, you can take those two outside and burn off some of that energy. Then maybe we can enjoy a little peace and quiet this afternoon."

Because a tired Sammy was a sleepy Sammy...and a sleepy Sammy was easier to put down for a nap after lunch.

And while Bobby loved the kid, he really needed to focus on the research he had planned for later...which was best accomplished in a quiet house.

Dean nodded, following Bobby's thoughts.

After all, the big brother could use a little downtime as well...and Dean only got that luxury if Sam was asleep.

"I'm on it," Dean told Bobby with a conspirator's wink.

Bobby smiled. "That Frisbee they like to play with is in the back hall."

"Top shelf?"

Bobby nodded. "I have to keep it hidden up there or Rummy finds it and thinks it's an inside toy."

Dean returned the nod, understanding that logic since there were things he had to hide from Sam as well for the kid's own good.

The big brother glanced over his shoulder and down the hall as Sam squealed again and then apparently collapsed in a fit of giggles at whatever Rumsfeld was doing.

Bobby quirked a smile as he handed the last plate to Dean. "I think you've got your work cut out for you," he predicted about Dean wearing out his little brother.

"I can handle it," Dean replied like the pro he was, drying the dish and then stretching to return it to the cabinet.

"I know you can," Bobby agreed, indeed knowing that Dean could handle anything related to Sam since the eight-year old always took care of his little brother.

But Bobby still felt a twinge of guilt at leaving the boys by themselves.

"We'll be fine," Dean assured the older hunter, sensing Bobby's reluctance to go now that the dishes were done. "And you'll be right back...right?"

"Right," Bobby echoed, feeling ridiculous for needing an eight-year old's encouragement to run a quick errand at a neighbor's house. "But if you need me, call me," he instructed, jotting down the neighbor's number on the notepad hanging by the phones before he crossed to the backdoor.

Dean nodded. "Got it."

Bobby nodded as well. "See you soon," he called over his shoulder. "And you two be careful..." he added, grabbing his coat on the way out.

"We will," Dean promised – because he was always careful with Sam – and listened as Bobby stomped down the porch steps.

Seconds later, Bobby's old truck sputtered to life and then eased out of the yard.

Dean sighed and turned, knowing his mission as he left the kitchen with his red cape billowing behind him. The eight-year old heading down the hall to corral an energetic little brother and an equally rambunctious dog.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Turn, turn, turn!" Sam chanted, as if the Frisbee he had just thrown would respond to his commands.

But the green plastic disc maintained its course, gliding through the air before floating down and coming to rest on the roof of one of the many sheds cluttered around the yard of Singer Salvage.

"Ugh," Sam groaned, tossing his head back in frustration. "Why did it _do _that?" he demanded, as if the Frisbee had intentionally disobeyed him.

Dean chuckled at his brother's reaction, knowing Sam was getting tired by the way the kid's mood had started to nosedive.

The overreacting, the whining...paired with the decreased tolerance for Rumsfeld's playful lunging and the increased tendency to lean on Dean.

Just like Sam was doing now...

Dean ruffled Sam's floppy hair as the four-year old's head rested on his shoulder while they stood together in the middle of the yard.

"Dean..."

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean answered before Sam could ask him again about the reason a Frisbee would purposefully defy him. "Sometimes Frisbees can be a little tricky."

...as if Frisbees were the shady characters of the toy world.

"But I throwed it good?"

Dean nodded, always strangely touched whenever Sam sought his approval. "Yep. You threw it just like I showed you," he confirmed, patting his little brother's back. "The wind just took it, buddy. Can't help that..."

Sam yawned.

Across the yard, Rumsfeld barked, prancing in circles as he stared up at the Frisbee still stuck on the shed's roof.

A Frisbee that would _stay_ on the shed's roof until Dean climbed up there to get it.

The eight-year old sighed, shrugging his brother's head off his shoulder and stepping forward to complete his task.

Sam followed, still wearing Dean's Batman shirt under his coat; the emblem on his chest framed by the edges of his zipper.

Dean's coat had been discarded on the porch steps almost an hour ago, the crisp spring air warm now that the sun was higher in the sky.

But Dean's cape remained tied around his neck, because Dean was a good big brother who would keep his end of the deal to dress like Superman today...even if wearing the old red sheet made him feel and _look_ ridiculous.

But who cared?

It was just him and Sammy.

And Sammy seemed to be having fun in spite of becoming tired.

Dean smiled as he remembered promising Bobby that he would play with his little brother and wear the kid out so the four-year old would nap this afternoon.

And judging by the way Sam kept yawning, that mission was _almost_ accomplished.

"What's for lunch?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at the question, Sam rarely asking about mealtime unless the kid was hungry...which would be no surprise since the four-year old had barely eaten breakfast and then had run around the yard for most of the morning.

"Dean..."

"I don't know," Dean replied about the menu for lunch. "Bobby didn't say. Why...are you hungry?"

"Kinda," Sam admitted and paused. "Can we have hotdogs?"

"For lunch?"

Sam nodded.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. We'll have to ask Bobby."

...though Dean knew if Sam told Bobby that he wanted hotdogs, then they would be having hotdogs.

Because much like Dean, the older hunter rarely refused to give Sam whatever he wanted.

After all, the four-year old was theirs to spoil.

Dean smiled.

"When's Bobby coming back?"

It was a good question; one that Dean had also wondered as the morning had progressed.

"Soon," Dean responded vaguely, not knowing a specific time and figuring whatever job Bobby had gone to look at was just taking longer than he had expected.

...which meant Bobby was going to be grumpy as hell when he finally returned to Singer Salvage.

Dean snorted as he imagined the older hunter bitching about people wasting his time.

The brothers continued their trek across the yard, Sam's little legs moving twice as fast to keep up with Dean's longer strides.

"Are you gonna climb on the roof?"

"Yep."

"Can I help?" Sam asked, the four-year old always eager to do whatever his big brother was doing.

"No," Dean replied, because the last thing he needed was clumsy Sam on the roof of a shed.

That scenario was just begging for trouble.

Besides, Dean could retrieve the Frisbee faster if he didn't have to worry about what Sam was doing.

"But why?"

And of course Sam would want to know _why_ he couldn't help.

"I'm a good helper," the four-year old pointed out, like he was applying for the position.

"You _are_ a good helper," Dean agreed. "...which is why I need you on the ground, helping to keep a lookout."

Sam wrinkled his nose as if he could smell the bullshit. "A lookout for what?"

"Danger," Dean stated as though it was obvious. "Danger is everywhere, right?"

Sam nodded, because he didn't know much about this life...but he had lived long enough to know _that_.

Danger was everywhere.

John and Dean and Bobby were always talking about it, especially when they thought Sam was asleep.

But the four-year old sometimes heard them whispering about scary things...and it was a dangerous world indeed.

"So, while I'm on the roof..." Dean continued. "I need you to keep a lookout for danger down here on the ground. And if you see something, I need you to give me a super-secret signal."

Sam's eyes widened at this important responsibility. "Like what?"

"Can you whistle?" Dean asked, knowing his brother couldn't but always getting a good laugh every time the kid tried.

"Kinda," Sam answered – which was an optimistic appraisal of his whistling skills – and then stuck out his lips, making a kissy face and producing some kind of wheezy, squeaky sound.

Dean chuckled. "Good enough," he approved, realizing he would eventually have to teach the four-year old how to _really_ whistle.

But for now, Sam's version was too adorable to correct.

"That was good?"

"It'll do," Dean allowed and stared up at the roof as they finally reached the shed.

Rumsfeld continued to pace, pausing long enough for Sam to rub him but then resuming his back-and-forth march as he pined for his Frisbee.

"Alright. Wait here..." Dean instructed his brother, pulling himself up on one of the crates stacked beside the shed.

Sam nodded and watched as Dean climbed, the eight-year old reaching the roof in a matter of seconds.

"Good job, Dean!" Sam praised as he stared up at his brother. "You really look like Superman now."

"Yeah," Dean agreed sarcastically, even as he could feel his cape fanning out behind him as the breeze blew.

"I bet you could fly," Sam predicted with the kind of rock solid faith that little brothers had in their big brothers' ability to do anything.

Dean snorted, appreciating the vote of confidence but...

"I don't think so, Sammy," he replied and turned away from his brother, spying the errant Frisbee on the opposite corner of the shed's roof.

Sam watched Dean disappear from view, petting Rumsfeld and humming some made-up song as he waited. The four-year old's gaze roaming the yard and then settling on the crates stacked beside the shed; wondering if he, too, could climb up...just like a superhero.

Just like Dean...

Sam smiled at the thought.

"Shhh..." he quietly warned Rumsfeld, as if the dog would tattle on him, and grunted as he reached to pull himself up on the crates...just like Dean had done.

A few seconds passed.

"Got it!" Dean announced, crossing back to the edge of the roof and frowning when there was no sign of Sam in the yard.

Just Rumsfeld blinking up at him in anticipation of receiving his toy...

Dean's heart immediately sunk to his stomach and then rose again with panic, beating wildly in his chest as dozens of possibilities buzzed through his mind.

None of them good.

Because danger really was everywhere.

And although Dean knew that, he had _still _left his little brother unprotected on the ground.

"Sam..." Dean called, his gaze frantically sweeping the yard.

Rumsfeld barked.

"Shut up!" Dean snapped at the dog, feeling close to hysteria. "Sam!"

"Here I am!" Sam surprised, appearing behind Dean; his head full of floppy hair popping into view over the edge of the shed's roof before he climbed up to join the eight-year old.

Dean scowled as his little brother approached, unsure if he wanted to hug Sam or shake the crap out of him.

"What the hell, Sam?" he demanded, glaring at the four-year old.

Sam's smile instantly melted. "I..." He pressed his lips together, knowing whatever he said could potentially make Dean even angrier. "I just wanted to be up here with you."

"But I told you to _wait_," Dean reminded sharply. "Those crates barely supported me. What if you had fell?"

"But I didn't," Sam countered, like that made everything okay. "I climbed up here just like you did. Just like you, Dean."

The four-year old obviously proud of himself for being just like his big brother.

But Dean shook his head, still pissed. "I told you to _wait_," he repeated, flinging the Frisbee across the yard with the force of his anger.

Rumsfeld took off after it.

Sam watched the dog before glancing back at Dean. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Dean snapped. "It's my job to keep you safe. But how can I do that if you don't do what I tell you?"

Sam nodded, his eyes beginning to brim with tears. "I'm sorry," he said again, hating it when Dean was mad with him.

Dean sighed harshly, rubbing his hand over his face as he tried to calm down.

Because he didn't want to make Sam cry...but the reminder that _anything_ could happen to his little brother while his back was turned was unnerving.

Dean sighed once more, feeling the rush of panic and anger begin to drain as Sam continued to stare at him with those huge eyes.

The kid's lashes wet as he blinked against threatening tears.

Dean couldn't take it.

"C'mere..." the eight-year old called, holding his arms out to his brother.

Sam immediately lunged forward, wrapping himself around Dean. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Dean soothed. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to yell at you. But when I tell you to do something, I _mean it_."

Sam nodded, his face rubbing against Dean's stomach as he held onto his brother.

Dean patted Sam's back. "It's alright," he murmured, offering forgiveness and reassurance to his sensitive kid.

Sam exhaled a shaky breath, hugging his brother for several more seconds before pushing away and staring up at Dean through his fringe of bangs.

Dean smiled down at his little brother, thumbing lingering tears from the four-year old's cheeks. "You ready to get down now? Maybe go inside and wait for Bobby?'

"Mmhmm" Sam hummed and glanced at Rumsfeld as he barked.

The dog having returned with his Frisbee and now growing impatient for one of the brothers to throw it again.

"Okay..." Dean sighed, approaching the edge of the roof and deciding it would be quicker if he just jumped down.

After all, it wasn't _that _high.

And jumping down was probably safer than trying to climb down on those rickety old crates...

Dean nodded, decision made, and glanced at Sam standing behind him. "I'm gonna jump."

Sam's eyes widened.

Dean chuckled. "Don't look at me like that. I've jumped from _way_ higher."

...which was true.

But Dean's little brother still seemed uncertain about his plan.

"It'll be okay," Dean assured. "And then once I'm down, I'll help you down."

Sam blinked. "I gotta jump, too?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But you need to _wait_ until I'm ready to catch you," he emphasized, pinning the four-year old with a meaningful stare.

Because thankfully, Sam hadn't gotten hurt climbing _up_ by himself...but he could definitely get hurt jumping _down_ by himself.

Sam returned the nod, seeming to understand the seriousness of what could happen.

"Stand _right there_ and be still until I call you," Dean ordered his little brother. "You hear me?"

Sam nodded again.

"Good," Dean replied and then sighed, shaking off the twinge of nervousness that fluttered in his stomach as he prepared to jump.

Rumsfeld stared up at him, barking his encouragement.

Dean pulled a face. "Move!" he yelled at the dog and then inhaled deeply, gathering his courage and just _doing it_ – jumping and landing like he was born to do it.

Forget Batman or Superman...he was a freakin' jungle cat.

Dean smiled at his success and then turned, staring up at Sam. "I'm okay," he reported, spinning in a circle as if to prove it; his red cape swirling around with the motion.

Sam smiled back...but then shook his head as Dean held his arms up to him, the four-year old refusing to jump.

"Don't be scared, Sam," Dean told his brother. "You'll be okay. I'll catch you."

Sam shook his head again. "But Batman can't fly."

Dean snorted. "You're not gonna _fly_, Sam. You're gonna _jump_. And then I'm gonna catch you."

Sam said nothing but continued to linger on the edge of the roof, twisting his hands nervously.

Dean sighed. "Sammy. C'mon, buddy. You can do it. Just jump. You know I won't let you fall."

"I know," Sam agreed and released a shaky breath. "Okay. I'm gonna do it."

"Good," Dean praised. "I'll count to three."

Sam nodded, familiar with that routine.

Dean double-checked his stance, widening his feet to better balance himself and locking his arms in preparation to accept the weight of his little brother.

"Here we go, Sammy..." he called up to the roof. "You ready?"

Sam nodded, his forehead wrinkled with concentration.

Dean smiled at his brave kid. "Okay...one...two..._three..._"

And with that, Sam jumped.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

Dean braced himself as he watched Sam jump, holding his position; his gaze tracking the four-year old before he caught his little brother as promised.

But Sam landed at an awkward angle in Dean's arms, causing Dean to stumble.

The eight-year old frowned as he realized he was unsteady and adjusted his stance, attempting to regain his balance.

But Rumsfeld was underfoot, worsening the angle of Dean's misstep.

Dean gasped with surprise as he tripped over the dog and began to fall forward, the big brother tightening his hold on Sam out of instinct and hoping he didn't crush the kid when he fell on him.

Because there was no stopping this – they were going down.

And down they went.

The brothers landed on the ground with a thud, Dean swearing under his breath about dogs that were too stupid to move out of the damn way.

But his annoyance was instantly forgotten when Sam screamed, the jolting sound filled with pain and fear.

Dean froze as he hovered over his brother, trying to assess the situation as Sam screamed again before the tears began.

Rumsfeld whined at Sam's distress and looked at Dean.

Dean quickly sat up, snatching the homemade cape from his neck – not having time for such distractions now – and reaching for his brother.

"Sammy..." he called, easing the four-year old on his back and scanning the kid's body for any obvious injuries; his gaze landing on Sam's left hand cupping his right elbow as Sam held his injured arm against his stomach.

Dean felt his heart begin to pound at the implication – that Sam might have broken his arm in the fall.

Or more accurately...that _Dean_ might have broken Sam's arm in the fall.

The big brother swallowed at the possibility, feeling like he was going to throw up.

"Sammy..." Dean called again. "Talk to me, buddy. What hurts?"

"M-my arm," Sam sobbed and then screamed as Dean reached to touch it. "No! It hurts!"

Dean hesitated. "It's okay," he soothed. "I just need to look at it."

Because it was difficult to tell if Sam's arm was really broken since Dean couldn't _see_ much of his brother beneath the kid's bulky coat.

Sam continued to cry, coughing and gasping over his tears as he remained sprawled on his back.

Dean frowned. "Easy, Sammy. Let's sit you up..." he suggested and slid his arm under Sam's shoulders, smoothly easing the kid to a sitting position.

Rumsfeld came closer, sniffing at Sam's teary face.

Sam turned away, not in the mood to play and only wanting his brother.

Rumsfeld whined at the four-year old's rejection.

Dean glared at the dog, blaming the mutt for their fall. "Leave him alone."

The dog whined again and sat, watching the brothers.

Tears streamed down Sam's flushed cheeks, mixing with the dirt on his face. "It-it _hurts_."

"I know," Dean murmured, hating it when the four-year old was _this_ upset...and hating to see his brother in pain, especially when he felt responsible for it.

Because _he_ was the one who had allowed them to fall...and _he_ was the one who had fallen on top of his scrawny little brother and had broken the kid's arm.

Dean clenched his jaw at the emotions that surged through him – guilt and anger and panic.

"I'm gonna make it better, okay?" the big brother promised. "I'm gonna fix it, Sammy. We just need to get your coat off, so I can see what's wrong."

Sam shook his head, his breath hiccupping with his tears. "No! That's g-gonna h-hurt more!"

Dean said nothing, knowing that was true – because if Sam's arm was broken, taking off the kid's coat was going to hurt like a sonuvabitch.

"Okay..." Dean sighed, pushing away the helpless feeling that began to twist his stomach as he tried to think.

Still sitting on the ground, Sam continued to hold his arm and sob.

"Shhh..." Dean hushed his brother, dusting dirt and grass from Sam's hair and then carefully pulling the four-year old toward him, wrapping his arms around his crying kid.

Sam leaned into Dean's chest, seeking comfort and reassurance...and trusting his big brother to make him feel better, to handle everything.

And Dean _would_ handle everything.

But right now, he didn't know what to do.

The eight-year old could administer first aid, manage fevers, clean up vomit, stop nosebleeds, stitch minor wounds, bandage cuts, ice bruises, and kiss away hurt feelings.

But Dean knew he couldn't fix broken bones.

And even worse, this was Sam's _first_ broken bone.

It was new territory for both of them.

_And Dean didn't know what to do._

He released a measured breath, glancing around the yard and wishing for Bobby.

Because Bobby _would_ know what to do; Bobby would make them _both_ feel better, would give Dean direction and would help soothe Sam.

But Bobby's truck was nowhere in sight.

And the house seemed too far away to get up and go call for him at the neighbor's.

Because Sam needed help _now_.

The four-year old was quickly becoming hysterical, his breaths stuttering as he sobbed into Dean's chest.

"It _h-hurts_," Sam whimpered, completely breaking Dean's heart.

Because Sam's pain was _his_ fault; his little brother was upset, was a crying, shaking mess because of Dean.

Dean held Sam closer, biting his lip as his mind raced...and then blinking as his gaze settled on the bike across the yard.

The bike Bobby had bought him for his last birthday.

The only bike Dean had ever owned and the only option he felt would work.

Because maybe he couldn't drive...but Dean _could_ ride the hell out of that bike and take his brother somewhere for help.

Dean nodded, glancing down at Sam still crying into his chest. "Hey..." he called, rubbing the kid's shuddering back. "Sammy. Let's get up," he urged, not waiting for Sam to stand on his own but gently scooping the four-year old into his arms as he got to his feet, carrying his brother toward the bike.

Sam didn't resist, nestled in Dean's embrace and keeping his arm protectively held against his body. "Wh-where are we going?"

"To town," Dean answered, not sure how far that was...but knowing his kid needed a hospital.

Sam sniffled. "What a-about Uncle Bobby?"

"He'll find us," Dean assured, also knowing that was true but not thinking through the consequences of Bobby returning to Singer Salvage and finding them gone.

Sam said nothing, glancing at Rumsfeld as the dog followed beside them curiously.

Seconds later, Sam was cradled in the middle of the bike's handlebars as Dean settled on the seat behind him; the eight-year old's hand holding Sam steady while the other was prepared to steer.

"Sammy...you okay?"

"My arm hurts."

"I know," Dean soothed. "But hang in there, buddy. I'm gonna find somebody who can help fix it."

Sam nodded as Dean pushed off the ground, finding his balance on the bike and beginning to pedal forward.

They were barely up the driveway – with Rumsfeld running along behind them – when a familiar truck came into view, its tires crunching the gravel as it braked.

"Bobby..." Sam whispered through his lingering tears, and Dean had never felt so relieved to see the older hunter in his life.

Bobby cut off the engine and stared at the brothers through the windshield, clearly confused as to what was going on.

The driver's side door creaked as he stepped out of the truck.

"Goin' somewhere?" Bobby ventured, surveying the situation and immediately noticing that Sam was upset...and Dean looked scared. "What's wrong?"

"I think Sam broke his arm," Dean blurted, his voice shaking with frustration and disappointment that he had allowed this to happen on his watch.

Bobby frowned at the announcement, glancing back at Sam and realizing the four-year old was holding his arm against his body in that telltale way folks did when their arms were broken.

"How the hell did that happen?"

Dean paled at the question.

Bobby arched an eyebrow, sensing that now wasn't the time for that story. "You can tell me later," he allowed, holding Dean's gaze before reaching for Sam as he approached the bike. "Let me see, squirt."

Sam leaned back into Dean's chest, withdrawing from Bobby's touch as he anticipated pain. "It hurts!"

"I know it does," Bobby returned calmly, having sustained numerous broken bones over the years. "But hey...when Batman gets hurt, what does _he_ do?"

Dean blinked at the question, realizing what Bobby was doing and wondering why he hadn't thought of that angle.

Because after all, Sam was still wearing his Batman shirt...and the kid could definitely use a distraction from the trauma of the past few minutes.

Sam sniffled, staring at Bobby. "He...he's brave," the four-year old answered about how Batman handled injuries.

"Got that right," Bobby agreed. "And how 'bout you? What do you do when you get hurt?"

Sam's response was instant. "I get Dean."

Bobby chuckled, winking at the eight-year old still sitting behind Sam on the bike.

Dean twitched a smile, thankful for his brother's confidence in him even if he didn't feel much confidence in himself right now.

"And after you get Dean...then what?" Bobby prompted.

"I-I try to be brave," Sam replied, letting his guard down as Bobby once again reached for him.

"That's my boy," Bobby praised, gently picking up the four-year old and carrying him to the truck; settling Sam in the driver's seat for a better look at what they were dealing with.

Dean propped his bike on its kickstand and joined them, standing beside Bobby as Rumsfeld followed.

"We're gonna need to get this coat off."

Dean nodded. "I know. But I didn't want to hurt him."

"You did good," Bobby reassured the big brother about his decision. "We can't take this off the regular way without risking further injury to Sam's arm. We're gonna need to cut it off."

Sam's eyes widened. "No! I don't have another coat! Daddy will be mad!"

Bobby snorted. "Your daddy's already gonna be mad."

Dean swallowed, having forgotten about John...until now.

But Bobby was right, their dad was going to _pissed_ when he found out that Sam had broken arm...and that Dean was responsible.

"I wouldn't worry about that now," Bobby commented, reading Dean's thoughts. "We'll deal with that later." He paused. "How 'bout grab some scissors from my toolbox in the back?"

Dean nodded – eager to _do something_ – and crossed to the truck bed, climbing up on the bumper to reach the toolbox and retrieve the scissors.

Bobby smiled at Sam as they waited, brushing the kid's bangs from his eyes.

Sam blinked at him, teetering on the verge of fresh tears.

Bobby felt his heart twist, wishing he could take away the kid's pain...and again wondering what the hell had happened.

From the dirt on Sam's shirt and smeared across his face and still lingering in his hair, it was clear the four-year old had fallen forward and had likely attempted to brace himself, which had caused the fracture in his arm.

But what had happened _before_ that?

Why had Dean looked like he was going to throw up when Bobby had asked?

And where the hell did the eight-year old think he was going on that damn bike?

Dean knew the hospital was a good distance from Bobby's house – almost 20 miles – and surely wasn't planning to take Sam there on his bike?

Then again, Dean would go to hell and back for his little brother...so what was 20 miles on a bike?

Bobby nodded, knowing there was _nothing _Dean wouldn't do for Sam, and then glanced at the eight-year old as he returned with the scissors.

Bobby smiled his thanks and then refocused on Sam as the four-year old continued to sit sideways in the driver's seat.

"Listen up, squirt. I'm gonna cut your sleeve now, okay? And while I'm doing that, I need you to sit real still..."

Sam stared at Bobby before his gaze flickered to Dean, seeking his big brother's permission.

Because John was always preaching about the importance of taking care of their clothes...and now Bobby was about to intentionally ruin the only coat Sam had.

"It's okay," Dean assured. "We'll get you another coat," he promised and reached for his little brother's left hand.

Sam sniffled as he laced his fingers with Dean's and glanced back at Bobby. "Okay."

Bobby nodded. "Okay," he echoed and set about his task, carefully cutting through the thick fabric of Sam's coat.

Up the sleeve and over the shoulder and right up to the neckline until the coat just fell from the right side of Sam's body.

"There we go. That won't so bad, was it?" Bobby remarked, winking at the four-year old and pocketing the scissors as he began to gently examine Sam's swollen, crooked arm.

Sam gasped, trying to pull away.

"Sam..." Bobby warned, shaking his head as he kept his grasp strong enough to maintain his hold but light enough not to hurt the resisting four-year old.

Sam made a sound – half whimper, half grunt – and bit his bottom lip, trying to be brave; trying not to squirm against the pain as tears sprung to his eyes and he squeezed Dean's hand.

Dean returned the pressure, offering Sam an encouraging smile. "You're okay. I'm right here," he murmured, watching Bobby triage his brother's injury.

Sam nodded and released a shaky breath, his left hand still gripping Dean's; _needing_ that contact with his big brother.

Several seconds passed before Bobby sighed, seeming to relax.

Dean felt himself relax a little as well as he waited for the older hunter's report about Sam's injury.

"Good news, squirt," Bobby announced, his large, calloused hand still cradling Sam's arm. "I don't think it's that bad. I mean, it's broken. There ain't no doubt about that..."

After all, Sam's arm was _crooked_.

"But I don't think it's a bad break," Bobby concluded. "Just a quick trip to the hospital, a quick x-ray, a quick cast, maybe some pain meds...and you'll be good to go."

It all sounded so simple.

But Dean knew otherwise.

The remainder of their morning was going to be long and stressful.

Bobby ruffled Sam's hair. "Sit tight," he told the four-year old, crossing to the back of his truck to stow the scissors in the toolbox, then rummaging around in his larger-than-normal first aid kit before lifting the top of his cooler.

Dean smiled – because Bobby always had _everything_ in his truck – and then refocused on Sam as his little brother stared at him.

"Here. Let's finish getting your coat off..." the eight-year old suggested, releasing Sam's hand and easing the left side of the kid's coat off his shoulder and arm, then tossing it to the passenger side floorboard.

"Daddy's gonna be mad."

Dean nodded at Sam's prediction. "Yeah," he agreed...because there was no denying it.

But John was going to be mad about more than just a ruined coat.

The coat was the least of their concerns in this situation.

Dean sighed in anticipation of the bitching and the blaming even as he smiled again at his brother.

"But we're not gonna worry about that now, right?" Dean reminded Sam about John's reaction. "We're just gonna worry about _you_."

Because really...that was all Dean ever worried about anyway.

As long as Sam was okay, Dean could handle the rest – including a pissed John.

"Alright..." Bobby sighed as he rejoined the brothers on the driver's side of the truck with an icepack and a sling. "Let's immobilize this little chicken wing," he teased Sam about his thin little arm, carefully wrapping the sling around the kid's neck and shoulder for stability. "How's that feel?"

"It still hurts," Sam reported with a sniffle.

Bobby nodded. "I know, squirt. And it's probably gonna hurt for a while," he replied honestly. "But this ice will help with the pain and the swelling until we can get to the hospital."

Dean nodded his agreement with that plan of treatment and crossed to the passenger side, climbing into the truck's cab and reaching for Sam; sliding the four-year old across the bench seat and settling him against his side.

Bobby watched, waiting until the brothers were situated before handing the icepack to Dean.

Dean accepted it, making sure the towel Bobby had wrapped around it was still snug, and then pressed it to Sam's broken arm, his touch soft and gentle.

Sam stiffened at the initial contact but then relaxed with a sigh, leaning against his big brother and closing his eyes.

Dean propped his chin on Sam's head and watched as Bobby loaded his bike in the truck bed.

"Get on back to the house," Bobby ordered Rumsfeld, pointing up the driveway as he climbed behind the steering wheel and closed the driver's side door.

Rumsfeld hesitated but then turned, trotting in the opposite direction.

"Alright, boys..." Bobby called, glancing across the seat. "Everybody okay?"

Dean nodded, keeping the icepack in place over Sam's arm as his little brother rested against him.

Bobby's gaze lingered on his kids – eager to find out just what the hell had happened while he had been gone – and then cranked his truck, figuring he and Dean had time to discuss that later.

Because right now, they had a four-year old who needed a hospital.

And everything else could wait.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

The ride to the hospital was long and quiet, just the familiar rumble of an engine filling the cab of Bobby's truck along with the hum of tires on asphalt.

And while Bobby understood the silence, he didn't like it.

It was unusual and unnerving.

Because when Sam was along for the ride, the truck was typically filled with four-year old chatter as the kid pointed out the window and asked questions or made comments.

Then when Sam tired of that, he would tell silly stories and laugh and hum and sometimes try to sing along with whatever song was on the radio, adorably making up his own lyrics when he wasn't quite sure what was really being said.

And Dean would roll his eyes at his little brother but would sing as well...and would answer the kid's questions and nod or shake his head and offer his own comments.

And Bobby would sometimes join in...or would just sit and drive and enjoy the moment as he spent time with his boys.

But this morning, neither brother had said a word as they traveled to town.

Because this morning, things were different.

Sam was hurt, and Dean was worried...and Bobby was confused.

The older hunter still in the proverbial dark about whatever had happened to result in a four-year old's broken arm and a big brother who obviously felt more responsible than usual for the mishap.

But Bobby knew that Dean would never intentionally hurt Sam, so...

The older hunter sighed, his mind sorting through different possibilities as he glanced in his rearview before glancing at the brothers across the bench seat.

Sam sniffled as he remained nestled under the protective shelter of Dean's arm; the four-year old leaning against the eight-year old's side and allowing his big brother to fuss over him.

From the passenger seat, Dean kept a constant check on his little brother, readjusting the sling's strap and holding the icepack in place, making sure his kid was comfortable.

But when Dean wasn't tending to Sam, the eight-year old was staring out the windshield, lost in his own thoughts as he relived what had happened and amped up the guilt.

Because this – Sam sitting beside him with a broken arm – was _his_ fault.

Dean had promised his brother that he would catch him.

And he did...right before he _fell_ on him.

Dean sighed and glanced at Bobby, feeling the older hunter watching him.

Bobby said nothing – allowing Dean his space – but briefly held the eight-year old's gaze before refocusing on the road.

Several minutes passed.

The silence stretched.

Sam shifted, immediately attracting Dean's attention.

"Sammy. What's wrong?"

"My arm hurts," Sam whimpered, the four-year old having said little else since the injury had occurred over half an hour ago.

Dean nodded at the expected report. "I know. It's okay. We're almost there."

"Your brother's right, squirt," Bobby confirmed, signaling to turn off the highway. "We'll be at the hospital in a few minutes. Then we'll get you patched up and you'll be good as new."

Sam processed the information; experience having taught that sometimes being "patched up" involved even more pain.

"Are they gonna hurt me?"

"No," Dean assured, his tone sharp at the idea that he would allow someone to hurt his little brother. "I won't let anybody hurt you."

Bobby smiled, his heart warmed by Dean's protective instincts when it came to Sam.

But...

"It might hurt a little," the older hunter amended, shrugging his apology to Dean when the eight-year old glared at him over Sam's head.

Sam's eyes widened at the news. "A _little_ little...or _a lot_ little?"

Bobby chuckled at the four-year old's attempt to differentiate between levels of pain.

"A _little_ little," Dean answered, once again trying to reassure his brother about what was waiting for him at the hospital. "But you can take it, right?"

Sam hesitated before nodding.

Dean returned the nod. "And _why _can you take it? Because..."

"Because _you're_ with me," Sam replied confidently.

The four-year old totally missing that his big brother was pointing at the emblem on his t-shirt as Dean implied that Sam could withstand the pain because he was Batman for the day.

But Sam's answer was even better...and more accurate.

Because both brothers could handle anything as long as they were together – _that_ was their superpower.

Dean smiled, briefly burying his face into the floppy hair of this kid he loved so much, and held Sam close, careful not to squeeze his brother's arm too tightly.

Sam relaxed deeper into Dean's embrace, humming a sigh the way he sometimes did when he felt safe.

And it was _these_ types of interactions between the brothers that made Bobby feel like his heart was going to burst.

Because damn he loved these kids...and they loved each other...and _why_ couldn't their lives be simple and happy?

Bobby sighed and then gestured over the steering wheel, indicating the hospital coming into view beyond the windshield. "Here we are..."

"Oh, no," Sam whispered as Bobby turned into the lot, the four-year old suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of actually _being_ at the hospital.

"It's okay," Dean soothed, even as his own stomach fluttered with anxiety. "Me and Bobby will be with you."

Sam nodded. "I know." He paused. "I wish Rummy was here, too," the four-year old added, missing the other member of their family.

Dean scowled. "Why?" he snapped. "That stupid dog is half the reason we're here."

Bobby shifted the truck into park and cut off the engine, glancing at Dean and arching an eyebrow at this first tidbit about what had happened.

"How so?" he prompted about the dog's involvement in Sam's injury.

Dean sighed harshly and shook his head, refusing to elaborate. "It doesn't matter," he dismissed, trusting Bobby to read between the lines.

And the older hunter did, hearing _I'll tell you later_ loud and clear since Dean didn't want to risk further upsetting Sam by rehashing the events and blaming the dog that Sam adored.

"He was just playing," Sam defended about whatever Rumsfeld had done. "He didn't mean to..."

"I said it doesn't matter," Dean repeated and opened the passenger side door, eager to escape this conversation as his own guilt began to flare.

Because much like Rumsfeld, Dean didn't "mean to", either.

He didn't _mean_ to fall on his brother and break the kid's arm.

But that's why they were here – because Sam's arm was swollen and crooked; the four-year old's bone fractured from the impact of the fall combined with the extra weight of Dean piled on top.

Dean sighed and stepped down from the truck, setting the icepack in the seat and reaching for Sam. "C'mon..."

"Actually..." Bobby interrupted, still sitting behind the steering wheel and hoping his next words would be well received by a fiercely possessive big brother. "I'm going to carry him."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the announcement, trusting Bobby but always hesitant to accept help when caring for Sam. Especially since the initial crisis of Sam's injury had now passed and the big brother felt more like himself, felt back in control.

Then again, Bobby carrying Sam would be quicker...and that's what mattered – getting help for Sam as quickly as possible.

Dean could – and _would_ – hold Sam after they were settled in the hospital.

Bobby waited, knowing the eight-year old was weighing his options and never rushing Dean's decisions about his little brother.

Sam sat in the middle of the bench seat, his left hand once again holding his right elbow; stabilizing his injured arm against his small body and looking back and forth between Dean and Bobby.

Several seconds passed before Dean finally nodded.

"Okay..." he allowed, staring at the older hunter. "But be careful with him."

Bobby snorted at the familiar warning. "Nah. I think I'll drop him."

Dean glared at the joke while Sam giggled.

"Oh, Uncle Bobby. No, you won't!" the four-year old countered, shaking his head and smiling like their Uncle Bobby was so silly.

"How do _you_ know?" Bobby challenged playfully.

"'Cause you love me," Sam replied, still smiling.

Bobby felt his heart swell. "Damn right I do," he agreed with a wink at his youngest...and then glanced at Dean, making sure the eight-year old knew he was included.

Because Bobby loved _both_ of his boys.

Dean shifted where he stood, always uncomfortable when people started talking about love and other sappy things.

Bobby chuckled and opened the driver's side door, climbing out of the truck and motioning for Sam. "Let's go, squirt. Boot scoot over here..."

"And be careful," Dean added, still standing on the opposite side of the truck; the eight-year old framed by the open passenger door and watching Sam slide across the bench seat.

"You're like an inchworm," Bobby teased about the way Sam was inching towards him – the kid using the heels of his sneakers to pull himself across the seat on his butt.

Sam said nothing, his forehead creased with concentration as he slowly made his way to Bobby without jarring his arm that was beginning to throb now that the icepack was no longer in place.

The older hunter smiled when Sam was finally close enough to reach without hurting him and lifted the four-year old, settling Sam on his right hip.

"There you go," Bobby commented, rubbing Sam's back once the kid was fully situated against him, and then glanced through the truck cab at Dean. "Look in the glove compartment and grab my Health Services Regulation badge," he instructed the eight-year old. "Just in case we need it..." he added before closing the truck door behind him.

Dean arched an eyebrow at the order – sensing a scam – but did as he was told, fully supporting whatever it took to make sure his little brother received the treatment he needed.

Finding the requested badge among the dozen or so others clogging the glove compartment, Dean closed the passenger door and crossed in front of the truck, coming alongside Bobby.

"You got a plan?" the eight-year old asked, handing the badge to Bobby and matching his steps with the older hunter's as they crossed the parking lot.

"Don't I always?" Bobby countered, pocketing the badge identifying him as "W. Nelson".

Dean nodded.

Bobby smiled.

Sam sighed and laid his head on Bobby's shoulder.

"I know, squirt," Bobby soothed about the kid's increasing fear as they neared the hospital's entrance; the older hunter feeling the four-year old's heart pounding against his own chest. "You're okay," he assured and rubbed Sam's back.

Sam sniffled against the threat of returning tears.

Dean frowned – recognizing a scared little brother when he heard one – and grasped Sam's foot, squeezing in silent comfort.

Sam released a shaky breath and clung to Bobby with one arm as the older hunter continued to carry him and entered the hospital.

Dean was right beside him, scanning the ER's waiting room as they walked.

But the receptionist behind the desk ignored them as they approached, instantly annoying Bobby and pissing off Dean.

"Hey..." the eight-year old called, not in the mood to deal with anybody's crap. "My little brother needs help."

The receptionist glanced up from whatever list she was making, looking bored and disinterested. "Good for him," she remarked dryly, not even acknowledging the injured child Bobby was holding. "Sign in and take a seat."

Dean glared at the blunt dismissal; one hand remaining on Sam's foot, keeping constant contact with the four-year old, while his other hand fisted in anger.

But Bobby was unfazed as he set his plan in motion.

"I need to speak with your supervisor."

The woman snorted, familiar with the request since her shitty attitude usually caused other patients to make similar demands. "Sorry. He's not here on Saturdays."

"...which makes the _second _violation of hospital protocol," Bobby pointed out like he knew what he was talking about.

The receptionist arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Bobby replied, shifting Sam in his arms as the nervous four-year old squirmed against him. "Hospital policy states quite clearly that a supervisor must be on duty seven days a week or must appoint another appropriate contact if he or she is unable to be on hospital grounds."

Bobby paused, allowing the receptionist to absorb the information and to realize that he was _not_ to be fucked with.

Dean resisted the urge to smile, proudly watching the older hunter handle this bitch like a _boss_.

"Furthermore..." Bobby continued. "..._you_ are in direct violation of hospital protocol for not properly adhering to appropriate procedures with patient check-in. You failed to disperse required case history forms, insurance forms, and forms related to – "

" – I'm sorry," the receptionist interrupted, holding up her hand to halt Bobby's speech. "What did you say your name was?"

Bobby dodged the question, instead tightening his grip on Sam and reaching in his pocket for the badge Dean had snagged from the glove compartment earlier.

"I'm an inspector with the Health Services Regulation Board, an agency within the Department of Health," Bobby told her, briefly flashing the badge.

The woman blinked at him, clearly not understanding what exactly that meant...but knowing she had finally acted rude to the wrong person.

"The HSRB is responsible for protecting citizens by regulating and enforcing standards of care at healthcare facilities throughout the great state of South Dakota," Bobby recited like he was indeed a company man and had "HSRB" tattooed on his ass. "Inspections are performed to determine if those standards of care are being met."

The receptionist continued to blink at him. "So...you're here for an inspection?" she asked, suddenly sounding suspicious since Bobby certainly wasn't dressed the part of an HSRB inspector as he stood there in front of her desk wearing worn-out jeans, muddy boots, an old flannel shirt, and the filthiest cap she had ever seen.

"No," Bobby answered, not foolish enough to claim that, and rubbed Sam's back as the anxious four-year old became increasingly fidgety within his embrace. "Although HSRB inspections are performed as part of an ongoing process, I'm not here today on official business. I'm here because my nephew broke his arm."

The woman behind the desk glanced at Sam propped on Bobby's hip, taking in the child's dirty, tear-streaked face and the sling supporting his right arm.

"My little brother," Dean reminded, both his tone and expression implying that if the receptionist had just played nicely and given them the courtesy they deserved, she could've avoided being dressed-down by Bobby Singer.

But no...

The woman had chosen the wrong people to dismiss with her indifference.

Because neither Dean nor Bobby tolerated bullshit, especially when it came to Sam.

The receptionist held the eight-year old's gaze and then glanced back at Bobby as he continued speaking.

"Although I'm not here in an official capacity, I'm also never completely off duty," Bobby informed.

The older hunter _living_ the part of an HSRB inspector in this moment; reflecting the threat of his importance and power through the way he spoke, the way he stood, the way he casually glanced around the ER's waiting room as if he could shut the whole place down with a single phone call.

Dean smiled.

This was _great._

"After my experience here this morning," Bobby told the receptionist. "I will be personally filing a complaint with the HSRB and professionally flagging this facility as cause for concern in its failure to provide adequate service to meet standards of care."

The older hunter paused, still rubbing Sam's back in a soothing circular pattern as he enjoyed the expression of shock and fear on the receptionist's face.

"In addition, I will also flag this facility for its potential noncompliance with both state and federal regulations and will alert the Joint Commission on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations about – "

" – Sir..." the receptionist politely interrupted. "I'm sorry about my behavior earlier," she told Bobby, sounding more sorry that she had gotten _caught_ being a bitch than for actually being a bitch. "I've had a long shift and...well...I guess that's no excuse."

Bobby stared at her – because no, it wasn't.

He didn't give a shit how long her shift had been. When he arrived at the ER with his injured four-year old, he expected some help...not a flippant dismissal.

"Anyway..." the woman continued, brushing her hair from her face, clearly flustered and trying to correct a bad situation that she had created. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Just, please...tell me what I can do to make this right."

Bobby smiled.

Because that was easy.

"I need to speak with your supervisor."

"Yes. Of course," the receptionist replied, having lied earlier about her supervisor not being available because one more compliant about her attitude would most likely result in her losing her job.

Bobby blinked at the woman expectantly as she hesitated.

"Just one moment..." the receptionist excused herself and turned, immediately dialing for her supervisor and hoping she would still be employed at the end of the day.

But most likely she would _not_ be – because the HSRB...holy shit.

And although the receptionist had only gotten a glance at his badge, it seemed this guy was not only an inspector but also some kind of director within the HSRB as well.

...which meant she had _really_ stepped in it this time.

The woman sighed with dread as she waited for her supervisor to answer her call and watched Bobby sway back and forth while holding his nephew, soothing the four-year old and talking to the other kid standing beside him.

"That was _awesome_," Dean whispered, loving to watch Bobby work; the eight-year old having long ago figured out that a good hunter also had to be a good con man...and Bobby was the _best_.

Bobby winked at Dean, accepting the praise, and then glanced at Sam as the kid rested on his shoulder. "Hey, squirt. You hanging in there?"

Sam nodded, his face rubbing against Bobby's shirt. "But my arm hurts _more_."

"I know," Bobby agreed, because the numbing effects of the icepack were long gone by now. "It'll be better soon, okay? Stay tough just a little bit longer..."

"You're doing good, Sammy," Dean added and patted his brother's leg.

Sam smiled at Dean and then glanced at the unfamiliar man striding towards them, his shiny shoes clicking on the tiled floor as he quickly approached.

"Inspector..." the man greeted, reaching for Bobby's hand. "Please accept my apologies for your unpleasant experience this morning. Sioux Falls General always strives to provide the best quality of care to its patients and their families while maintaining its compliance with state and federal standards of care and compliance and – "

" – take a breath," Bobby interrupted, releasing the man's sweaty hand and resuming his comforting circles as he rubbed Sam's back. "You can save the ass-kissing for later," he advised. "You'll need it to survive the inspections as the HSRB investigates whether or not to cite your facility for its deficiencies in standards of care."

The man – the supervisor – paled, cutting his eyes at the receptionist who was to blame for this disaster and then glancing back at Bobby.

"Of course," he agreed, not wanting to further piss Bobby off with his babbling. He gestured over his shoulder. "Ann tells me that your nephew broke his arm?"

"Yes," Bobby confirmed, patting Sam's back. "We've already waited too long for him to receive the attention and care he needs...and we don't intend to wait any longer."

"No," the supervisor replied and shook his head. "No waiting. I called before I came downstairs and made sure a bed was prepared and ready for your nephew. Right this way..." he commented and turned, leading them through double doors.

Bobby followed with his kids, holding Sam as Dean walked beside him; the small family making their way down the hall and then stopping as the supervisor slid back the curtain on the cubicle waiting for Sam.

"Here we are..." the man announced, waving his hand around the small space. "All of our ER doctors are busy right now. But I've paged our pediatric orthopedist, and she assured me that she would be here within ten minutes."

Bobby nodded, pleased that Sam would be seen by a specialist even though he knew the four-year old's injury wasn't that severe.

But still...only the best for his kids.

Bobby twitched a smile and glanced at the supervisor staring at him, the man waiting for his approval.

Bobby nodded again, carefully setting Sam on the bed and watching as Dean immediately climbed up on the mattress to sit beside his brother.

"Well, okay..." the supervisor sighed, realizing that Bobby wasn't going to say anything. "I'll give you and your nephews some privacy. But if you need me, please don't hesitate to have me paged. I want to ensure that the remainder of your visit goes smoothly and exceeds your expectations."

"Thank you," Bobby replied, still watching his kids as Dean settled into the bank of pillows and eased Sam back to rest against him.

The four-year old winced as the movement caused pain to flare in his arm but then relaxed into his big brother's embrace and sighed, content to wait...at least for now.

The supervisor cleared his throat. "Also, there's no need to worry about the cost of today's visit. I've already spoken to billing, and everything is handled. It's the least we can do to help resolve this situation."

Bobby nodded, pleased with this extra benefit of pretending to be somebody he wasn't.

"Your good faith efforts will be noted in my complaint to the HSRB," the older hunter assured.

The supervisor nodded. "Thank you." He glanced at the brothers, smiling at the little one tucked against his big brother as they sat on the bed. "Hope you feel better," he told Sam.

The four-year old blinked at him but otherwise didn't respond.

"You can go now," Dean dismissed, never liking it when strangers tried to talk to his brother.

Bobby snorted, sensing the eight-year old's mistrust, and then directed his attention to the supervisor.

"Thank you for your prompt attention," he told the man, escorting him out of the cubicle's space. "The HSRB will be in contact with you regarding the date of our inspection of your facility."

The supervisor swallowed. "Yes, sir. And again...my apologies."

Bobby said nothing – officially done with this man and this conversation – and pulled the curtain, the rings clacking together as they slid across the bar.

The supervisor stood in the hall, blinking at the curtain, and then turned, heading back to the ER's waiting room to fire a certain receptionist whose luck had just run out.

Bobby watched as the man's shadow moved away and sighed in relief before refocusing on his kids still lounging in the bed.

Dean stared back. "How much longer?" he demanded, holding his little brother and murmuring something to the four-year old as Sam shifted, the kid uncomfortable from the pain throbbing through his fractured right arm.

Bobby shook his head. "Not much longer," he promised, fully intending to raise hell if they were kept waiting for longer than the ten minutes it would supposedly take for the orthopedist to arrive.

Dean huffed his frustration and brushed Sam's bangs from his eyes. "Sammy..."

Sam glanced up. "My arm hurts, Dean."

"I know," the big brother soothed. "The doctor's coming. But how 'bout we play a game while we wait?"

Sam hesitated, not really in the mood to play but...

"What game?"

Dean smiled, an expert in distracting his little brother. "I Spy."

Sam returned the smile, loving that game. "Okay," he agreed. "But me first!"

Bobby chuckled at the four-year old's sudden enthusiasm and winked at Dean when the eight-year old looked at him, giving the big brother credit for knowing how to keep Sam occupied.

Dean returned the wink and then ruffled Sam's hair. "Alright, buddy..."

Sam nodded at his brother's prompting to begin the game and then glanced at Bobby as the older hunter sat in the chair beside the bed. "You wanna play, too?"

Bobby smiled at his sweet kid. "Sure thing, squirt. You get us started..."

Sam beamed but the grin faltered as a fresh jolt of pain shot through his arm.

"You're okay," Dean reminded, carefully hugging his brother as the four-year old whimpered. "Go head. What do you spy?"

Sam inhaled a shaky breath and relaxed again into Dean's side as the brothers continued to sit on the bed together with Bobby nearby.

"I spy something blue..."

* * *

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

Ten minutes later, "I Spy" continued.

The game having been briefly interrupted earlier when a nurse had arrived to check Sam's vitals but then had been quickly resumed since it seemed to be doing the proverbial trick in keeping Sam distracted.

And when you were waiting with a four-year old who was tired, in pain, and on the verge of becoming whiny, distraction was everything.

"Your turn, Sammy."

"Um..." Sam hummed, resting against his brother and glancing around the room as he tried to guess what Dean was describing. "Is it..."

But the four-year old's voice trailed off as the curtain suddenly slid back, revealing a woman in a white coat with greying hair and a warm smile.

"I heard somebody broke his arm this morning..." she commented as she entered the small area of the ER cubicle, sorting through her patient's chart.

The woman already knowing the full background on this situation from the frantic phone call she had received earlier about the inspector showing up with his nephews...and the disaster that had followed at the receptionist desk.

Sam shrunk back against his brother, instantly shy as the stranger approached the bed.

Dean tightened his hold around Sam, angling his body to further shield the four-year old from whoever this was invading their space.

The woman's smile softened, turning her attention to Bobby as he stood. "Inspector?"

"Doctor?" Bobby countered.

The woman nodded. "Yes. Dr. Avery," she introduced, extending her hand. "Pediatric orthopedist."

Bobby returned the nod and the handshake.

_Bobby Singer. Professional liar. _

"Nice to meet you," Bobby told her instead. "Thank you for coming down this morning to help out our little squirt."

Dr. Avery smiled at the affectionate nickname and refocused on the kids still sitting on the bed and staring at her – the little one scared while the bigger one was suspicious as hell.

"I don't need to frisk him, do I?" the doctor teased, setting the chart on the counter and gesturing at Dean as though the eight-year old was armed and dangerous and would _mess her up_ if she touched his little brother.

Bobby chuckled, because the woman was right – Dean's body language made it clear that he was protective of Sam...and aggressive toward anyone foolish enough to try to take the four-year old away from him.

"He's fine," Bobby assured the doctor about Dean and held the eight-year old's gaze.

_Aren't you?_

Dean's attention flickered between the older hunter and the doctor before he finally nodded, knowing the woman was there to help Sam but still wary of strangers.

"Don't hurt him," Dean warned as the doctor gloved up and stepped forward, reaching for Sam.

"I'll try not to," Dr. Avery promised, unstrapping the sling and removing it from Sam's arm under the watchfulness of Sam's big brother.

Sam blinked at her, wrinkling his nose in pain as she grasped his fractured forearm.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

"This is Sam," Dean answered for his brother, rubbing his kid's back as the four-year old shifted against him. "And I'm Dean."

Dr. Avery nodded. "Hi, Sam," she greeted, smiling at the child who continued to blink at her with those big eyes. "And Dean," she added, glancing at the big brother.

Dean stared at her, watching her every move as she began to palpate Sam's right arm.

Sam whimpered and squirmed. "It hurts!"

"I know," Dr. Avery soothed, expertly continuing her examination while ignoring her wiggling patient and his glaring big brother. "Almost done..."

She paused, narrowing her eyes as she carefully lifted her patient's arm, surveying all angles of the crooked limb.

Bobby stood nearby. "Greenstick fracture?"

Dr. Avery glanced over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed with Bobby's knowledge. "Only an x-ray can confirm that, but yes...I think so."

She paused, quirking a smile.

"Well done, Inspector. I guess the HSRB trains you guys in more than just rules and regulations."

Bobby shrugged. "I just take my job very seriously," he told her...and he wasn't referring to the HSRB or to any other position.

Because for Bobby, the only job that mattered was looking after his boys – and he took _that_ very seriously. Which was why he read so much about anything and everything that could apply to kids...including medical books that may have mentioned the type of fractures unique to children, like greenstick fractures.

The doctor held Bobby's gaze. "You're good," she told him about how well he performed his job and then directed her attention to the brothers. "I like your shirt," she complimented, trying to distract Sam as she completed the last part of her examination before sending the four-year old to radiology.

Sam inhaled a shaky breath, glancing down as if he had forgotten what shirt he was wearing but then smiling when he remembered. "Thank you," he returned, not forgetting his manners even as he winced in pain. "It's Dean's."

Dr. Avery nodded, strangely touched that this little guy was wearing his big brother's shirt. "Ahhh..." she commented. "So I guess you two are Batman fans?"

"Uh-huh," Sam confirmed. "_And_ Superman," he added, glancing at his brother still sitting beside him on the bed. "Dean was dressed up as Superman."

Dean cringed, not wanting to discuss this in front of a stranger. "Sammy..."

Sam smiled at his big brother's embarrassment, momentarily forgetting that the doctor was squeezing his fractured arm.

Dr. Avery laughed softly. "So, is that how this happened?" she asked, gently laying Sam's arm in his lap as she stepped back from the bed. "You two were playing superheroes, and you fell?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I jumped."

"Jumped?" Bobby echoed, immediately glancing at Dean.

Because the big brother he knew would never let Sam jump off of anything, especially not anything tall enough for the kid to get hurt when he landed.

Dean shifted uncomfortably beneath Bobby's intense gaze. "Well, there's more to it than that..." he explained vaguely, not wanting to talk about it but knowing the older hunter would never let this slide. "But yeah...Sammy jumped and fell and..." He swallowed. "...and broke his arm."

Bobby narrowed his eyes, suddenly more eager than before to hear this story – the _whole_ story.

"You tried to catch me, though..." Sam pointed out, not letting his brother take the blame. "And you _did_," he reminded Dean. "You _did_ catch me. But then Rummy got in the way...and then we fell...and then I hurt my arm."

The four-year old glanced down at his fractured arm still resting in his lap.

Bobby said nothing as he sighed.

"Where were you during all of this?" Dr. Avery asked, staring at Bobby; her tone more curious than accusatory.

Bobby glanced at the doctor. "In the house."

Because "down the road at the neighbor's" didn't sound like a good answer...and could potentially lead to trouble with Child Services.

Dr. Avery nodded. "It always happens that way, doesn't it?" she commented. "You turn your back for a split second and..." She gestured at Sam. "Batman jumps and breaks his arm."

She winked at the four-year old and then glanced back at Bobby.

"Don't beat yourself up. Happens more than you know." She smiled. "And it keeps me in business."

"Yeah, I guess it does," Bobby agreed with the orthopedist but once again held Dean's gaze to indicate they were _not_ done with this conversation.

Dean nodded and ducked his head, resting his chin in the softness of Sam's floppy hair.

The four-year old sighed, tired and bored. "Are you gonna fix my arm now?" he asked the doctor. "'Cause I'm hungry, and it's almost time for my nap."

Bobby snorted as Dr. Avery laughed at the adorable child blinking up at her.

"Yes," she replied, smiling. "I'm gonna fix your arm just as soon as you get back from getting pictures taken."

...which was the less scary way she liked to describe x-rays to kids.

Sam tilted his head. "Why do you want my picture?"

"Not _your_ picture," Dr. Avery corrected, though she'd love to have this kid's picture...such a cutie. "But I need pictures of what your bones look like inside your arm. That'll help me do my job and get your arm all fixed up."

Sam absorbed the information. "Okay," he agreed and glanced at his big brother still sitting beside him. "Can Dean come, too?"

Bobby inwardly braced himself for the fallout that was brewing, knowing the answer even before the doctor spoke.

"No," she told the four-year old, shrugging her apology to Dean. "I'm sorry. But as I'm sure your uncle can confirm, it's hospital policy that only patients and medical staff are allowed down in radiology. The risk of unnecessary exposure to radiation, especially for children, is too great of a liability."

Bobby nodded, indeed familiar with that policy but already seeing the argument forming on Dean's lips...especially since tears were beginning to brim in Sam's eyes at the idea of being separated from his big brother.

"But I _need_ Dean," the four-year old insisted, clinging to his brother with his left hand. "We go everywhere together!"

Dr. Avery inhaled a deep breath, steeling herself against those eyes...because Dean tagging along just wasn't possible. "Sam, honey..."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean unexpectedly soothed, wanting to go with his brother but not wanting his kid to be upset all over again.

Sam blinked at him, jarring loose tears that rolled down his cheeks.

Dean shook his head, thumbing them away. "Hey. Don't cry, buddy. It's just gonna be for a few minutes, okay?" he promised about how long they would be apart. "And then when you get back, I'll be _right here_ waiting for you."

Sam sniffled and leaned into Dean's chest.

Dean rubbed his brother's back, glancing at Bobby and the doctor...and then smiling when an orderly appeared with a wheelchair.

"Oh, wow!" the eight-year old enthused, trying to get Sam excited. "Look, Sammy! You get to ride in a wheelchair. How cool is that?"

Sam turned his head to look but didn't say anything.

"C'mon..." Dean urged, slipping off the edge of the mattress and reaching for Sam; easily picking up the kid and carrying him over to the wheelchair.

The orderly smiled.

"What's your name?" Dean asked, still holding his brother.

"Matt."

Dean nodded. "Listen, Sammy. Our new friend Matt is gonna take you for an awesome ride to get some totally cool pictures taken of what's _inside _your body. That's like comic book stuff, right?"

Sam sniffled as he glanced at Matt.

"And Matt's gonna be real careful with you," Dean added, holding the orderly's gaze to make sure the man understood what was expected of him. "And then when you're done, he's gonna bring you back to me. And then we're gonna get your arm fixed and go home and eat those hotdogs you wanted."

Bobby arched an eyebrow, surprised that lunch had already been discussed between the brothers at some point, and smiled at the familiar request.

Because Sam seemed content to live off hotdogs and apple juice.

"Hotdogs?" Sam echoed, beginning to buy into the bribery.

"Mmhmm," Dean hummed, easing his brother into the wheelchair; careful to keep Sam's broken arm stable against his small body.

"Okay," Sam finally agreed and glanced over his shoulder at the orderly standing behind him. "Hi."

Matt smiled at the cute kid. "Hi," he returned. "You ready?"

Sam nodded, glancing back at Dean.

Dean winked at his little brother. "See you in a few minutes."

"'Kay," Sam replied and sniffled, trying to dry up his tears.

"Hold on tight," Dean reminded his little brother as the orderly turned, wheeling Sam away.

"He'll be fine," Dr. Avery assured, grabbing Sam's chart from the counter and following behind her patient. "Try not to worry. We'll be right back."

Dean nodded, watching as his brother disappeared down the hallway.

In the next second, Dr. Avery was gone as well, leaving Dean with Bobby in the small cubicle.

There was a beat of silence as the ER buzzed with activity beyond the curtained space.

"So..." Bobby began and resumed his seat, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's hear it."

Dean sighed, standing in front of the older hunter like he was testifying at trial, pleading his case.

"We were playing with Rummy, throwing the Frisbee..." the eight-year old explained, miming the action. "But then it landed on the roof of the shed, so I climbed up to get it."

Bobby frowned. "Do you think that was safe?"

Dean shrugged. "Probably not," he admitted. "But I didn't know what else to do. Sam was having fun. And Rummy kept pacing, waiting for it...so I just climbed up there to get it, so we could keep playing."

Bobby nodded. "Okay," he allowed. "And where was Sam while you were climbing?"

Dean sighed. "He was _supposed_ to wait on the ground. That's what I told him to do. But then when I turned around, he was up there with me."

"On the roof?"

Dean nodded.

Bobby shook his head. "Stubborn little cuss."

"Yeah. Sometimes," Dean agreed about his little brother. "That's why I yelled at him. 'Cause I told him to _stay_ on the ground. But then he cried...so of course I hugged him 'cause I don't like it when he cries."

Bobby smiled, strangely touched by Dean's candid confession...and completely understanding.

Because the older hunter didn't like when the four-year old cried, either.

"So, after you hugged it out..." Bobby prompted with a chuckle at Dean's scowl. "...then what? When did the jumping and the falling and the broken bones happen?"

Dean sighed, hating this part of the story. "Well, I jumped first."

Bobby's eyes widened.

"It wasn't that high," Dean defended about his decision. "And those crates beside the shed were kinda old and shaky, so I thought it was probably better if I just jumped instead of trying to climb back down. And it was. I was fine."

"Mmhmm," Bobby hummed, because that part was obvious. "What about Sam?"

Dean cringed as if it physically hurt to say the rest. "I told him I would catch him."

"And you did."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I did. But he was tired and a little scared, so he didn't jump like he normally would...and he landed kinda weird in my arms and knocked me off balance. But when I tried to get my balance back, I tripped over Rummy and – "

" – and you fell," Bobby finished, finally understanding Dean's earlier hostility about Rumsfeld's involvement in Sam's injury.

Dean nodded, glancing down at his feet as he prepared to confess his greatest crime. "And since I fell on Sam, _I'm _the reason he broke his arm," he concluded. "It's _my _fault."

Bobby scowled at the eight-year old's flawed reasoning, not surprised that Dean was assuming full responsibility...but needing to correct the big brother's assumption.

"C'mere..." Bobby called, sitting up straighter in his chair and motioning for Dean.

Dean sighed, shuffling forward and closing the gap between him and the older hunter.

"Now you listen to me..." Bobby told the eight-year old, holding his gaze as Dean stood eye-level with him. "This is _not_ your fault. It was an accident. That's all."

Dean looked doubtful.

Bobby switched tactics.

"Did you push Sam?"

Dean blinked, both shocked and horrified by the question. "No! I would never do that!"

"Exactly," Bobby agreed. "You would never do anything...or suggest anything...or tell Sam to do anything that might result in that kid getting hurt. I know you would rather hurt yourself than hurt him."

Dean nodded, seeming dangerously close to tears.

"You told Sam to jump because that's what you thought was the right thing to do, the _safest_ thing for him to do," Bobby pointed out. "And that's all we can do, Dean – what we think is right and safe at the time. Sometimes our plans work out...and sometimes they don't. But you can't beat yourself up about this. You told your little brother you would catch him, and you did. That's all Sam's going to remember about this – that you caught him. He doesn't blame you for what happened to his arm. I can guarantee that."

Dean released a shaky breath, allowing Bobby's words to wash over him.

There was another beat of silence; some doctor being paged to another part of the hospital, some baby screaming down the hall.

"I was scared," Dean whispered, staring at Bobby like he wasn't sure how the older hunter would respond...but he still needed to say it. "Sam was hurt and crying...and I didn't know how to fix it...and I was scared."

"I've been there," Bobby admitted, assuring the eight-year old there was no shame in being afraid. "I've been there many times."

Dean nodded, appreciating the older hunter's honesty. "And I'm scared about what Dad's gonna say."

Bobby shook his head. "Your daddy's got nothin' to say about this," he dismissed with the tone he usually used when discussing John Winchester. "And if he decides he _does_ have something to say about this, then I'll handle him. I don't want you to worry about it."

Dean quirked a smile, knowing Bobby's opinion of their dad and not doubting the older hunter would easily handle John as he had done so many times before.

"Right now, the only thing you need to worry about is your little brother," Bobby continued. "Think you can handle that?"

Dean's smile widened. "Yes, sir."

Bobby winked. "That's what I figured," he replied and held his arms open to the eight-year old.

Dean stepped forward, sighing as Bobby hugged him in the privacy of the ER cubicle.

"You did good today," Bobby assured the kid resting against his shoulder. "I'm not sure _where_ you thought you were going on that bike..."

Dean laughed.

"...but you did good," Bobby concluded. "And I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."

Dean shook his head, his chin rubbing against Bobby's shirt. "You _were_ there when we needed you," he corrected. "It just took you a little longer than usual to get there."

Bobby chuckled. "I guess you're right. But hopefully that won't happen again," he told the eight-year old, giving a final pat to Dean's back and easing the kid away.

Dean smiled, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his chest, his entire body.

Bobby squeezed the back of Dean's neck and then turned as Sam suddenly appeared around the corner of the curtain.

"Well, look who's back..."

* * *

_**TBC**_


	6. Chapter 6

Sam beamed at Bobby as he was wheeled into the ER's cubicle and then zeroed in on his big brother.

"Dean!"

Dean crossed to the four-year old, eager to get his hands on his kid and to hear how things went during Sam's solo trip down to radiology.

"Hey, Sammy. You okay?"

"Mmhmm," Sam nodded, smiling up at his brother as he continued to sit in the wheelchair. "Mr. Matt was super careful. And Dr. Avery was super nice. And the other lady taking the pictures was super fast. "

Dean nodded his approval. "Sounds like a good time."

Sam returned the nod, so jazzed about his adventure down to radiology that he seemed to forget that his arm was broken.

"And guess what?"

Dean blinked expectantly.

"I was so good, they gave me a lollipop! But I told them I didn't want it unless _you_ could have one, too."

The four-year old paused, pulling his left hand from behind his back and waving three lollipops.

"Purple for me 'cause I like grape. And red for you 'cause you like cherry...right?"

"Right," Dean confirmed, ruffling Sam's hair and feeling a warmth spread through his chest, reminded of how much he loved his sweet kid. "But who's this one for?" he asked, pointing to the orange lollipop in the four-year old's grasp.

Sam glanced shyly at Bobby and smiled.

Bobby smiled back. "You're too good to me, squirt."

Sam giggled and then gasped when Matt crossed around the wheelchair and reached for him.

Dean frowned. "I've got him," he told the orderly, knowing the man hadn't meant to bump Sam's right arm...but still not wanting the man to touch his brother.

"Sorry," Matt apologized, watching as Dean lifted the four-year old and settled Sam on the bed before climbing up beside him.

"Can we eat 'em?" Sam asked about the lollipops he continued to hold in his left hand.

"Later," Dean promised and passed the suckers to Bobby for safe keeping.

Bobby accepted them as he stood, setting them on the counter behind him and hoping they didn't forget them when they left the ER.

"Okay, gentlemen..." Dr. Avery sighed as she rounded the corner with Sam's chart. "Thanks, Matt," she told the orderly as he turned to leave.

Matt waved and rolled the wheelchair to the cubicle two doors down.

"As you've probably already heard, Sam did really well down in radiology," Dr. Avery reported. "Had all the nurses wrapped around his finger before he left..."

Bobby snorted, not surprised.

Dean smiled, always proud whenever anyone complimented his kid.

"I've had a chance to quickly review his films, but I wanted to show you," the doctor continued, shaking one of the x-rays to stiffen it before placing it over the lighted display on the wall.

The black-and-white film revealed the outline of a small arm and the shadowy bones within.

"This is your arm, Sam," Dr. Avery told her patient and smiled at the awestruck expression on the four-year old's face. "I know. Pretty cool."

She turned her attention to Bobby.

"Our theory was right," she pointed out, holding her finger over a broken portion of Sam's radius. "He sustained a greenstick fracture as you can see right here."

Bobby nodded, indeed seeing the place where Sam's bone had fractured...but not completely.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"A greenstick fracture?"

Dean nodded at the doctor.

"Well, it's when a bone bends and cracks, instead of breaking completely into separate pieces. This type of broken bone most commonly occurs in children because their bones are softer and more flexible than adult bones."

Dean nodded again.

"In some cases, a greenstick fracture can be difficult to diagnose because there may not be much pain or swelling," Dr. Avery continued to explain. "But in Sam's case, the fracture is a little more severe, as we can see from the way the bone actually curves as a result of the break. Plus..."

She shifted her attention from the x-ray to her patient.

"There is a moderate amount of swelling and pain."

Sam nodded in agreement, because his arm definitely hurt.

In fact, in the excitement of wheelchair rides and pictures being taken and lollipops, the four-year old had briefly forgotten about the throbbing that started in his wrist and ran up his arm and over his shoulder.

But now...

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the mattress as he was reminded of the pain and glanced at Dean.

The big brother swept Sam's bangs from his eyes, knowing what his kid wanted. "She's gonna fix it," he assured his little brother about his arm and then pinned the doctor with a stare. "She's gonna fix it right now."

Bobby snorted at the degree of Dean's nonexistent subtlety.

Dr. Avery smiled, catching the drift. "Well, I don't normally do the casting..."

After all, she was a specialist and had other patients who needed her expertise.

But these kids were cute...and their uncle as an HSRB inspector...and what the hell...she could spend a few extra minutes to cast Sam's arm.

"Okay," she told them with a shrug and moved around the room, gathering her materials.

Seconds later, the doctor was gloved up and carefully slipping Sam's right arm into a cotton stocking, then wrapping it with more cotton; unrolling several layers to cover his thin arm.

Sam wrinkled his nose against the pain, reaching for Dean with his left hand.

"You're doing good," the big brother murmured, squeezing the four-year old's fingers.

"You sure are," Bobby agreed, having crossed to the opposite side of the bed for a better view of the casting process.

Dr. Avery nodded, snipping the cotton and taping it in place. "I'm just thankful that the break wasn't so severe that it required the bones to be straightened and realigned before the cast could be done."

Sam blinked...because that sounded _really_ painful.

Dr. Avery smiled at the four-year old's reaction and reached for the roll of white plaster, dunking it in the bowl of water before squeezing out the excess moisture and beginning to unroll it on top of the layers of cotton.

"It's hot," Sam complained, trying to pull his arm away.

Dean frowned. "Are you burning him?"

"No," Dr. Avery assured. "The plaster heats up in order to harden and set into a cast, so it's normal to feel a little heat. It'll begin to cool in a few minutes."

"I don't like it," Sam declared but stayed still, watching the doctor go 'round and 'round his arm, crossing his palm and tucking the plaster between his fingers and thumb.

"Almost done..." Dr. Avery commented, finally finishing the roll and smoothing the plaster in place as she folded down the cotton padding sticking out around Sam's hand.

She paused, stepping back to survey her work while washing and drying her hands.

"Is that it?" Dean asked, also checking out the cast that now surrounded his little brother's arm.

"That's it," Dr. Avery replied, making a note in Sam's chart. "It'll harden in a few minutes, but it actually takes about 48 hours for the plaster to completely set. So, he'll need to be extra careful for the next couple of days."

"He will be," Dean assured, already planning to watch his little brother like a proverbial hawk.

Bobby smiled, sharing the same plan about the four-year old. "And cover it during baths?"

"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "If at all possible, don't let the cast get wet. But he can use the sling he was wearing earlier to help with support."

Bobby nodded, grabbing the sling from the edge of the bed where it had been discarded when the doctor had first arrived and tucking it in his back pocket.

"I'm not going to prescribe pain medication, since children's Motrin should be adequate to handle any pain. Just pay attention to dosing instructions and administer as often as he needs it."

Bobby and Dean both nodded at the doctor's orders about their youngest.

She smiled.

"Tonight...and probably the next couple of nights...he'll need to sleep with his arm on a pillow, just to help reduce swelling. But other than that, he should be good to go."

Dr. Avery smiled at her patient and gave one last check to the cast, satisfied that it was setting up properly.

"It was nice to meet you, Sam," she told the four-year old. "I'm sorry you had a rough morning, but I'm sure you'll heal up with no problem."

Sam smiled and yawned, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder. "Thank you."

Dr. Avery nodded at this polite little cutie. "My pleasure." She glanced at Dean. "You take good care of your brother."

"I always do."

The doctor nodded again, not doubting that, and glanced at Bobby.

"Inspector, I'm sorry for whatever happened at the receptionist desk earlier, but I hope the rest of your visit has been satisfactory."

"It has," Bobby assured, once again grasping the doctor's outstretched hand.

"I'm glad. That's what I like to hear." Dr. Avery smiled, then gestured over her shoulder at Sam. "The cast will need to come off in six weeks," she told Bobby. "Maybe less, depending on how quickly Sam heals."

"I'll keep a check on it," Bobby replied, having past experience with monitoring broken bones...and removing casts.

"Good," Dr. Avery returned, gathering Sam's chart. "You three take care," she told them and smiled, her gaze flickering between Bobby and the kids before she left the room.

Bobby sighed, watching her go and then refocusing on his boys. "Who's ready to go home?"

"Me!" both brothers answered in unison.

Bobby chuckled. "Same here," he agreed and lifted Sam into his arms as Dean jumped down from the bed.

"Don't forget our lollipops..." Sam warned, pointing at the candy still on the counter.

"I got 'em," Dean replied, grabbing the suckers and following behind Bobby.

"Can we have hotdogs for lunch?" Sam asked as they left the hospital, crossing the parking lot and heading toward Bobby's truck.

"I think I can arrange that," Bobby drawled, always keeping hotdogs and buns stocked at his house because he knew the four-year old loved to eat them.

"And then after lunch, it's gonna be naptime for Sammy..." Dean added, settling in the passenger seat and carefully pulling the four-year old toward him.

Sam sighed, leaning against his brother. "Okay," he agreed, his lack of resistance testifying to his exhaustion. "Will you nap with me?"

Dean pulled a face as Bobby cranked the truck. "Sam. Eight-year old's don't nap."

"Please?"

Bobby chuckled, knowing Dean would do whatever Sam wanted...and knowing that Dean had already planned to stick close to the kid, the big brother determined to keep watch over the injured four-year old.

Dean sighed. "Maybe."

Sam smiled – recognizing that "maybe" as a "yes" – and nestled closer to his brother, his fingers smoothing over the plaster of his cast.

Dean noticed. "How's your arm?"

"It doesn't burn anymore," Sam reported. "But it still kinda hurts."

Dean nodded. "You can take some Motrin with lunch."

Bobby nodded his agreement. "Absolutely. And then we'll set you up with a pillow. Help some of that swelling go down..."

"'Kay," Sam yawned, feeling safe and loved; the four-year old knowing his big brother and his Uncle Bobby would take care of him.

"And then later..." Dean continued. "I'm gonna draw all kinds of stuff on your cast."

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What kind of stuff? _Good_ stuff?"

"_Surprise_ stuff," Dean corrected, having big plans for the blank canvas of all that white plaster.

Sam's expression was still unsure but he sighed, feeling drowsy as he rested against Dean.

Dean rubbed his brother's shoulder out of habit; always calmer whenever Sam was beside him, whenever he could touch his kid.

There was silence as they rode, traveling back to Singer Salvage.

"Can we have our lollipops now?" Sam asked, suddenly spying the candy on the dash where Dean had stashed them.

Dean glanced at Bobby, seeking his advice.

The older hunter shrugged. "Why not?"

After all, it had been a rough morning for all of them, and a lollipop wasn't going to spoil their appetites for lunch.

"Okay," Dean agreed, opening and distributing the suckers.

Orange for Bobby...purple for Sam...and red for him.

"Mmm..." Sam hummed as he held the sucker in his left cheek. "S'good."

Dean nodded.

Bobby did the same.

Silence settled once again in the truck cab as they enjoyed their treats and rode.

Bobby thinking about preparing lunch and then tackling the research that had piled up back at the house.

Dean thinking about cleaning up his little brother from his fall, making sure the kid ate a decent amount of his noontime meal, and then was medicated and comfortable during his nap.

And Sam was snuggled between them, knowing that he was a lucky kid and that having a big brother like Dean and an uncle like Bobby was better than anything...even better than being Batman.

* * *

_**END**_


End file.
